Purifier
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2008
- Posts
- 449
The young priest seemed more dead than alive when the seal of the Cave of the Elements was broken. His bronze skin was covered with many bruises and burns, his chestnut hair and beard wild and his walk the delirious stumble of a man in severe pain and without orientation. His eyes though, his steel blue eyes burned with a visionary fire. The fire of a man who had stood before the Gods, who had been tested by them and proven worthy. There was no doubt to these that helped him out of the cave that Vardanes was truly chosen by the Gods. A man who had survived the tests of fire, of water, of earth and of wind in the Cave of the Elements was worthy to become the new High Priest.
The men helped Vardanes on one of the horses, a white stallion, descendant of the white stallion on which Arsakes, first of the High Priests once rode, after he returned from the Cave of the Elements, returned to unite the proud and independent mountain folk behind him and his Queen, the daughter of a powerful local warlord. The legend says that she had caught Arsakes' keen eye on his ride back from the cave, that the Gods had guided his gaze upon her. And that it was the same Gods who demanded that she too would undergo a trial to prove her worth, a sacred ordeal, administered by the High Priest, her prospective husband.
The Gods of this secluded mountain nation were harsh and unmerciful, relentless in the ordeals they imposed upon the chosen leaders of their chosen nation. But they needed to be that strict, that merciless. For only the strongest in body and spirit were fit to lead a nation like this one. Prospering in the roughest of climates, surrounded by powerful and much more numerous enemies, protected only by the unwelcoming conditions of their habitat, and by the strength and bravery of their warriors.
Vardanes had proven to be their strongest and most brave. On his way back into the capital, towards the great temple where he was to be consecrated as High Priest, many young maidens lined the streets, all of them dressed in white and wearing a wreath of flowers on their head. Each of them was of noble birth and hoping to be chosen by the designate High Priest, chosen to become his Queen. Their young hearts were beating wildly with hope and anxiety as they stood their waiting for Vardanes. High were their hopes, and yet also great their fears, because they knew that the ordeal they would have to undergo before becoming Queen would be inhumanely cruel and demanding. There was no hope for leniency this time. Twenty years ago, Vardanes' predecessor, his heart softened and his judgment clouded by love, had been too lenient on his Queen, and put her through an ordeal that was by no means harsh enough to please the Gods. The results were disastrous, the last twenty years a period of horrible hardships, of drought, pestilence and defeat.
The college of priests had Vardanes to become the next High Priest because they knew he was pious, strict and courageous. A man who knew his duties before the Gods and did not hesitate to fulfill them. Even though he was still delirious, from the pain, and the visions, and the sacred herbs, he sat upright upon his horse, every bronze muscle of his bare chest glistening in the midsummer sun, his commanding, royal features sharp and masculine. And yet his eyes seemed to stare into nowhere, as if he was still gazing into the world of the Gods, and not into the world of the mortals. Each virgin he passed was at the same time disappointed to not be chosen, not even noticed, and yet relieved to be spared the rigid ordeal.
When he rode into the capital, the population cheered upon him, thousands of voices called out his name in celebration. And yet he did not seem to notice any of them. Some of those who accompanied him, lead him towards the temple, already feared that that his mind of gone for good, that the visions he experienced in the cave had been too intense for any mortal mind. He had not spoken one worth since they had broken the seal and helped him upon his horse. Andy yet, just before they reached the temple, he gripped the reigns, and halted his horse. His eyes deep and blue like a mountain lake glistening in the summer sun fell upon a young female who had stepped into his way – had it been by accident or intention? - and he looked at her with the deep and intense stare of a man who was able to look into another being's soul. And then he spoke, with a voice still raspy from the thirst and hardship of his trial, but yet unbroken and commanding. “You have been chosen to be my queen”, he said with the determination of a man who had been blessed by the Gods to lead his people.
The men helped Vardanes on one of the horses, a white stallion, descendant of the white stallion on which Arsakes, first of the High Priests once rode, after he returned from the Cave of the Elements, returned to unite the proud and independent mountain folk behind him and his Queen, the daughter of a powerful local warlord. The legend says that she had caught Arsakes' keen eye on his ride back from the cave, that the Gods had guided his gaze upon her. And that it was the same Gods who demanded that she too would undergo a trial to prove her worth, a sacred ordeal, administered by the High Priest, her prospective husband.
The Gods of this secluded mountain nation were harsh and unmerciful, relentless in the ordeals they imposed upon the chosen leaders of their chosen nation. But they needed to be that strict, that merciless. For only the strongest in body and spirit were fit to lead a nation like this one. Prospering in the roughest of climates, surrounded by powerful and much more numerous enemies, protected only by the unwelcoming conditions of their habitat, and by the strength and bravery of their warriors.
Vardanes had proven to be their strongest and most brave. On his way back into the capital, towards the great temple where he was to be consecrated as High Priest, many young maidens lined the streets, all of them dressed in white and wearing a wreath of flowers on their head. Each of them was of noble birth and hoping to be chosen by the designate High Priest, chosen to become his Queen. Their young hearts were beating wildly with hope and anxiety as they stood their waiting for Vardanes. High were their hopes, and yet also great their fears, because they knew that the ordeal they would have to undergo before becoming Queen would be inhumanely cruel and demanding. There was no hope for leniency this time. Twenty years ago, Vardanes' predecessor, his heart softened and his judgment clouded by love, had been too lenient on his Queen, and put her through an ordeal that was by no means harsh enough to please the Gods. The results were disastrous, the last twenty years a period of horrible hardships, of drought, pestilence and defeat.
The college of priests had Vardanes to become the next High Priest because they knew he was pious, strict and courageous. A man who knew his duties before the Gods and did not hesitate to fulfill them. Even though he was still delirious, from the pain, and the visions, and the sacred herbs, he sat upright upon his horse, every bronze muscle of his bare chest glistening in the midsummer sun, his commanding, royal features sharp and masculine. And yet his eyes seemed to stare into nowhere, as if he was still gazing into the world of the Gods, and not into the world of the mortals. Each virgin he passed was at the same time disappointed to not be chosen, not even noticed, and yet relieved to be spared the rigid ordeal.
When he rode into the capital, the population cheered upon him, thousands of voices called out his name in celebration. And yet he did not seem to notice any of them. Some of those who accompanied him, lead him towards the temple, already feared that that his mind of gone for good, that the visions he experienced in the cave had been too intense for any mortal mind. He had not spoken one worth since they had broken the seal and helped him upon his horse. Andy yet, just before they reached the temple, he gripped the reigns, and halted his horse. His eyes deep and blue like a mountain lake glistening in the summer sun fell upon a young female who had stepped into his way – had it been by accident or intention? - and he looked at her with the deep and intense stare of a man who was able to look into another being's soul. And then he spoke, with a voice still raspy from the thirst and hardship of his trial, but yet unbroken and commanding. “You have been chosen to be my queen”, he said with the determination of a man who had been blessed by the Gods to lead his people.
Last edited: